Snowbound
by Windblown.child
Summary: After welcoming the Woodbury residents to the prison, Daryl starts feeling a little crowded and needs some space. Of course he manages to get himself into trouble as usual, but maybe the outcome isn't so unpleasant. (Finished, 3 chapters, This is not a guide for how to deal with hypothermia!)
1. Chapter 1

Anything recognizable is the property of the appropriate owners. I do not make any claim to ownership, nor do I make any money from this.

Note: I have not seen past Season 4, Episode 9: After.

* * *

Daryl knew that he shouldn't have gone hunting when he did, but the prison seemed like it was getting more and more crowded every week. Fresh meat wasn't so much of an issue now that they were able to salt, smoke, and dry anything extra he brought back. It was just a matter of getting away long enough to finally catch his breath before he shot one of the comparatively helpless Woodbury residents out of frustration. The hunter shook his long hair out of his eyes and continued to step carefully through the forest. He stopped and sniffed the air before scowling at the wood around him.

It was definitely winter in Georgia, all of the leaves had already turned and fallen, plus the air smelled of snow. Lately, the council had taken to arguing over how hard the deep winter was likely to be. Daryl had scoffed and walked out in the middle of Hershel's long winded speech about the farmer's almanac predicting a mild season. He had spent enough time in the woods to know that this winter was going to be brutal, not that anyone would believe him. The only person who had listened to his warnings about stocking up warm clothes and dried meats was Carol and she set to her task like she did anything else, with full attention and careful planning.

The hunter adjusted the straps on his backpack and let his mind wander to the older woman. Carol was everything his own mother wasn't, but he never once thought of her as a mother figure to him. She was so much more than the caretaker of their group, she was the backbone that kept them all going. Without the greying woman's care, he was sure half of the group wouldn't even have survived as long as they had. Daryl just wished that someone else would step up a little so she didn't have to constantly work herself ragged.

They had shared a cell since he caught one of the younger Woodbury women sitting on his bed on his perch in the cellblock. Daryl had grabbed up his bag and whipped the blankets out from under the woman before stalking straight to Carol's cell to drop off his stuff. That night, he had been laying on the bottom bunk, staring into the dark when the older woman returned from settling Judith down for the night in Beth's cell. She didn't even bother lighting a candle as she striped off her sweater and climbed into the top bunk and fell straight asleep.

Daryl hadn't been sure what to do. He had planned on announcing himself when she returned for the night, to make sure he could stay. But Carol moved efficiently and was asleep before he figured out how not to startle her in the dark. Unwilling to waste time he could be sleeping, the hunter decided that morning was soon enough to address the new sleeping arrangement, not that he expected her to refuse. They had spent the previous winter practically living on top of each other on the road after all.

Carol was the first to rise, surprising Daryl awake as she slid off the top bunk. He was wrapped up in his blankets so only his hair was exposed, wedged into the corner of the bunk. But he could see enough in the week pre-dawn light to know she had her back to him, removing her shirts in favor of cleaner clothes. The hunter thought it was ungodly early, even by his standards and pretended to be asleep under the covers. Suddenly, the older woman tensed and drew her ka-bar while clutching her shirt to her chest.

"I think you got the wrong cell last night." Carol spoke quietly so as to not wake the whole prison, but firmly, entirely aware that she wasn't alone as she faced the bunk.

Daryl didn't want to get any closer acquainted with the tactical knife he had gifted her so he pulled the blankets away from his face. The armed woman instantly relaxed and tucked the knife away. "Jesus, Daryl! I thought you were one of those Woodbury men trying to get friendly again."

The fact that she didn't ask why he was in her room went straight over his head, but he caught the important part of her sentence. "Again?"

She turned away to pull her shirt over her head and shrugged. "It's nothing. A couple of the guys are persistent, that's all." Dressed, Carol sat at the foot of the bunk. "Why are you in here, anyways?"

Thankful that the weak light wouldn't reveal his slight blush, the younger man grunted. "Found a woman in my bed."

"So you helped yourself to mine?" The smile lit her whole face and Daryl relaxed a little, confident that she wasn't going to kick him out.

"S'that alright?" He asked to make sure they were both on the same page.

"Of course, you're always welcome in my bed." Carol smiled again when she heard the strangled noise the hunter made at her innuendo. Since the first night on the bus, she had taken to teasing him slightly, smiling every time she caught him blushing before she changed the subject. "Coffee'll be ready in a little while."

Nope, definitely didn't think of her as a mother, Daryl shook his hair out of his eyes again, letting go of the memory of her bright smiles. She smiled at everyone, but the hunter liked to think that she saved her best smiles just for him. He checked over his shoulder for any walkers trailing him and wondered not for the first time why he stuck around the prison with their new tenants. The woman he had found in his perch had remained persistent as summer waned, and just that morning had suggested in front of witnesses that they should conserve heat together. Minutes later, Daryl was out of the prison gates and disappeared into the woods.

The only woman he would consider sharing heat with was, of course, Carol. She just seemed to get him. Somehow the older woman knew he hated being touched so she never initiated the contact, but she was always close enough to touch when he rarely worked up the courage to reach out to her. He knew she was aware of the scars, and could guess where they came from, but she never pushed him to talk about it. Hershel had nearly gotten a black eye back at the farm for insisting on a full medical history, including how he got each of his scars. Had tried some line about how he needed to know about any potential interactions between old and new wounds. All Daryl thought the vet needed to know was being skewered by his own bolt was not the worst he had endured.

A stick snapped and leaves rustled around the hunter, sending him turning to determine the direction the sounds came from. The crunch of dry leaves grew louder around him and Daryl vaguely thought the forest was holding its breath. Something was coming, and he didn't think it was dinner. Before the walkers had a chance to spot him, the bowman turned away from the loudest sounds to find shelter. When it was just a handful of walkers, he would normally dispatch them, doing his little part to weedle down the walker numbers. But there were definitely more than a few in the trees behind him.

Hungry groans ahead made the hunter pause next to a large oak tree growing in the center of a meadow. Walkers behind. Fuck. Walkers ahead. Double fuck. His only hope was to climb the tree and hope nothing looked upwards. While it was a large tree with sturdy branches, there wasn't much left in the way of foliage to hide in. But beggars can't be choosers, so he hefted himself into the branches and went still, crossbow at the ready. Moments passed while the groaning grew louder until all he could hear was the wordless laments of the dead. When they finally cleared the brush, Daryl couldn't stifle his whisper.

"Triple fucked."

Not only had he managed to be treed by a decently large herd, he managed to be treed by two herds heading from opposite sides of the meadow. The noises the dead made drew the groups together until the meadow was full of staggering bodies bumping into each other and moaning hungrily. Blessedly, Daryl hadn't been spotted climbing the tree, so it was good news that nothing was actively trying to eat him, but even his nimble mind couldn't come up with a way to escape the walkers milling around below him.

Night would fall soon, and temperatures would be close to freezing after the clear cold day. Daryl wrapped the strap of his bow securely around a branch before slipping out of his backpack to tug the bottom of his coat down so no cold air could reach his lower back. He reminded himself to thank Carol again for the heavy corduroy jacket with added leather sleeves if he managed to get back to the prison in one piece. When. When he got back to the prison, he amended. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night as the light continued to dim towards twilight. Of course he shouldn't have been out hunting so late in the day, but the close quarters were going to drive him up the wall.

Daryl clipped the straps of the backpack around the branch he was sitting on and carefully dug through its contents to evaluate his situation. The bag always contained a mix of useful items he had picked up along the way, but what he was really worried about was warmth. If the wind picked up much more, his jacket wouldn't be enough to keep him from freezing. Fortunately, he had thought to stuff his poncho in the bag that morning and he eagerly pulled it out, careful not to drop anything into the herd below him. If he drew their attention, they wouldn't be able to get to him in the tree, but they also wouldn't leave until something more interesting came along, which he knew could be days.

Tucked snugly into the repurposed horse blanket, the hunter checked again for anything immediately useful in the bottom of the bag with the twigs and crushed leaves that always found their way into his gear. Something unfamiliar tucked in a corner caught his eye, and Daryl withdrew what looked like a rectangular blue plastic compact. But when he opened the lid, he was pleased to find it didn't contain makeup and a mirror, but a four pack of chemical handwarmers. Immediately, his mind went to Carol. Only she would think to add essentials to his bag without telling him, and these might just make the difference for getting back to the prison.

He placed the hand warmers back into his backpack and pulled out his water bottle for a sip. It was all he had to last until the walkers wandered off again, and he didn't much fancy trying to take a leak in a tree without attracting their attention. He thought wistfully of Carol's cooking. Even when they didn't have two sticks to rub together, she managed to put together a better meal than anyone could have hoped. And now that they were settled at the prison with all the supplies they could haul from Woodbury, she made masterpieces. What he wouldn't give for a bowl of her thick hot venison stew.

Not for the first time, Daryl mentally kicked himself for not packing a portable meal or two. Usually if he had to spend the night away from the prison, the hunter would find a few squirrels to tide him over wherever he found shelter for the night. But he knew from experience that trying to roast a varmint over a fire while kipped in a tree would not end well. Not that there were any squirrels around anyways. With nothing else to do, he dug into the backpack again for anything to entertain himself. Instead, he found one of the pockets he never used stuffed full of granola bars and packs of peanuts.

Grinning like a little kid, the scruffy hunter eagerly peeled open a nutrigrain bar. He would never admit to anyone, but they were his favorite ever since Merle had brought him a case of them when he was a little kid and told him they were 'shiny candy bars.' The hunter promised himself he would thank Carol for the treats when he got back to the prison. Nothing had changed in the herd of walkers when he glanced at the ground and Daryl decided it wouldn't be too bad of a night so long as he didn't fall out of the tree if he fell asleep.

Remembering the first time he had attempted to sleep in a tree, and the undignified fall he suffered, Daryl slipped open his belt and tried to tug it out of his pants without allowing any of the chill air to get under his coat. A few minutes of silent cursing, he finally had the leather strap free and wrapped around his upper arm and a smaller branch he was leaning against before buckling it again. A couple of experimental tugs determined that even if he started slipping to the side, the belt would keep him from falling straight down into the mass of walkers below. But even with the belt securing him in his perch, the hunter knew he would never get true restful sleep. The best he could do was nap as much as he could. What he wouldn't give to be back in Carol's bunk, warm and comfortable, and not just because of the bed. He trusted the older woman in ways he had never even trusted Merle.

* * *

Author's commentary: I just wanted to make the statement that hypothermia is not something to mess around with. Please don't try to sit in a tree overnight in winter, nor should you attempt to make a fire in a tree. Trust me from personal experience, it will not end well.


	2. Chapter 2

Anything recognizable is the property of the appropriate owners. I do not make any claim to ownership, nor do I make any money from this.

Note: I have not seen past Season 4, Episode 9: After.

* * *

Hours later, after innumerable jerks back into wakefulness, Daryl was jolted awake by a sudden gust of wind that blew straight through his poncho. Sunrise was only the shadow of an idea to the east but he could sense the clouds hastening across the sky. If the wind kept up like this, he could be facing a serious storm with no shelter. The hunter reluctantly removed the poncho and maneuvered himself on the branch until he was facing the trunk so he could piss down it without attracting the attention of any walkers. As soon as he was done, the scruffy man tucked his poncho back around his legs and attempted to relieve some of the pinch in his lower back. Not for the first time, Daryl admitted he wasn't as young as he once was.

Unfortunately, the increasing morning light did not reveal anything in the stranded tracker's favor. A storm was racing the rising sun and the winds were growing stronger. Daryl flexed his fingers in his sleeves and conceded it might be time to pull out the hand warmers Carol had packed him. The herd hadn't moved in the night, likely the sounds of so many walkers together had confused them. Wind wouldn't be much help in that regard either. He needed a walker to spot something living and make noise so the others would follow it, hopefully far far away, and down a cliff, and into a bonfire. Yeah, it would serve them right to go out like a bunch of lemmings.

A snowflake blown into his eye jerked Daryl's frozen, sleep deprived mind back into awareness. First he wondered what was making the wheezy chuckle so close by, then he realized it was him, laughing inanely at the thought of a herd of zombies walking off a cliff. A few seconds of concentration brought the disturbing sound to an end, and he made his hands fumble at the zip on the backpack. This storm was only going to get worse before it got better. The pack contained 4 hand warmers, the perfect number to put one in each boot and use one for his hands, plus keep one in case of emergency. It was just going to be tricky getting his boot off, the packet in, and laces tied twice without falling out of the tree or dropping something right on a walker's head. Daryl considered saving the two heating packets for when his toes actually started getting cold, but changed his mind when he thought about how stiff his hands would be in just a few hours. Better to do it now.

Somehow, he got his first boot off without trouble, realized how good it felt to air his foot out despite the cold, and paused to enjoy the wicking effect of his wool socks. The boot with packet went back on without a hitch and he eagerly tugged at his other laces. But something about the direction he twisted to free his foot made the scar on his side twinge. That twinge turned into a flinch and the hot pocket meant for his left boot slipped out of his lap and plummeted towards the ground. Time slowed as the off white sachet tumbled through the frigid air towards certain doom. Daryl let out the breath he didn't know he was holding when it hit the ground between two walkers who were looking elsewhere. On one hand, he hadn't managed to attract the herd's attention, but on the other hand, if he hadn't dropped the packet, he would still have one extra for later.

"Quadruple fucked."

With slow, deliberate movements, the shivering hunter got the hot packs situated under the balls of his feet and held the last one in his hands, hunched over his drawn up knees. Trying to balance on his tailbone on the hard branch, he watched the sky lighten with diffused light, which chased away every shadow. Then the sky began to darken again before his internal clock hit mid morning. The wind dug its icy fingers into Daryl's skin, making his nose and ears ache and he peeked down before the light got any worse. There were no longer two herds traveling in opposite directions in the field. Now there was just a huge mass of the rotting bastards, staggering about and generally not getting anywhere very quickly.

The weather continued turning worse. Moist air must have blown in from the ocean to mix with the cold front pushed down by the gulf stream. Or something like that. Daryl had never been one to sit and watch the weather channel when he could be out in it. All that really mattered was the air was getting colder and he was unable to use movement to warm himself up. The hot packs in his boots and clutched between his hands definitely helped, but they would only last for a few hours. After that, he was on his own with nothing more than his corduroy coat and his poncho unless he wanted to piss in the water bottle and use that for warmth.

With nothing better to do, Daryl watched the zombies slowly stagger around in the field, bumping into each other and occasionally getting pushed to the ground. Then he realized that the ones that fell over couldn't manage to get up again. Some were even starting to collect snow on their filthy clothes and hair as the cold made their joints stiff and their movements slower and more uncoordinated. This was the first time the winter had really set in hard since the end of the world so they had never had the opportunity to test if the cold affected the walkers as much as it affected the survivors.

A hint of a plan started to form in the hunter's sluggish brain. Walkers in limited numbers were easy enough to dispatch, especially if they were taken unaware. However, riled up in a herd was another matter, but the cold that was slowly killing him might just be what saved his life. If the storm slowed the walkers enough, he might just be able to run straight through the herd and lose any followers in the woods. Daryl also knew that if he managed to get out of the tree and the walkers weren't really as sluggish as they looked, there would be no hope of escape.

The hunter knew he would be torn to pieces in minutes if the herd reacted. But, if he stayed where he was, there was no possibility of surviving a second night without shelter. He would lose all feeling in his extremities and his core temperature would continue to drop, reducing blood flow to his brain. Daryl knew he would become incredibly tired and no matter how much he fought it, he would eventually fall asleep and never wake up. At least not as a human. If he died there in the night, he would return as a walker, but he would still be strapped to the tree by his belt come spring.

Despite the severity of the situation, the inane memory of walking through the forest with Andrea came to mind. They had stumbled on someone who had opted out by hanging himself from a tree. When they'd turned, their corpse was left dangling like a rotten pinata until the hunter had put it out of its misery. Thinking about being in the woods made the shivering man remember why they had been out there. Carol had lost her little girl and he had been determined to find Sophia. He groaned in misery. If he stayed in the tree and froze to death while belted to the branch, his corpse wouldn't join the herd below when they finally wandered off. Daryl knew his body would still be stuck in the branches when Carol eventually looked for him.

Staring unseeing at the frost from his breath that had solidified on the poncho, Daryl knew he could never do that to Carol. Fuck dieing in a tree like a scared possum. He couldn't let the older woman see him like that. It had practically destroyed him when he thought for sure he had found her corpse in the tombs. Nope, he was going to go down fighting and at least if he was killed, the hungry walkers would probably eat enough of him that he wouldn't be recognizable. Yeah, that sounded like a plan and Daryl put it into motion. No point in sitting around waiting for the storm to get worse. As it was, the edges of the field were starting to fade as the snow came in faster.

Daryl returned the poncho to the backpack and forced his stiff legs to unbend to straddle the branch. The movement and exposing his legs to the wind made him bite his lip to stifle his groan of pain. It would completely ruin his plan if he caught the walker's attention before he hit the ground ready to run. Forcing his body to move and push cold blood from his extremities was worse even than the pins and needles that came with sitting in one place for too long. But he knew he had to do everything he could to limber up or he would be tripping and staggering like the undead.

Sparing a glance at the ominously dark sky, Daryl checked that the backpack was zipped up and that his belt was back in place before strapping his bow across his chest. The last thing he needed was for his pants to drop while he was trying to outrun a herd of hungry walkers and if he was treed again or had to take shelter before reaching the prison, his only chance at surviving was his backpack. Ignoring the angry purple of his fingernails, the hunter slipped as low as he could in the branches before preparing to lower himself to the ground. He had debated if he should try to be unobtrusive when he exited the tree, or just jump to the ground and sprint for the woods. In the end, he decided to go slowly until something spotted him on the off chance that the walkers would be too cold to care about him. Besides, as far as he could tell because of the cold, he didn't smell like dinner, unless they had a taste for frozen long pig.

Spotting an open space between two walkers, Daryl lowered himself from the bottom branch and landed softly in the snow. He nearly went to his knees when his ankles rolled from landing on the chemical warmers still situated under the balls of his feet but he managed to move smoothly and didn't knock into any of the walkers. A glance around revealed that none of the shambling corpses had taken any notice of the tracker dropping into their midst. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Daryl slid nonchalantly through the crowd, avoiding any contact with the dead lest he draw their attention. Several times he had to backtrack as the milling zombies closed off paths wide enough for him to travel, but he eventually made it to the shelter of the trees as the sky darkened further towards evening.

Fortunately the herd was thinner in the forest, but the tree cover had sheltered the dead still wandering around and Daryl quickly drew several sets of eyes with his movements. Not even bothering to kill any, the hunter switched to a rolling lope to put distance between him and the herd. As he ran through the forest, the skilled tracker debated his route. If it was warmer out, he would never head straight back to the prison. His movements would have drawn the entire herd after him and they would continue until they ran into something that blocked their path. But with the weather so cold, and his own endurance limited, Daryl hoped the walkers wouldn't form a herd and follow him back to the prison.

Daryl's legs felt like lead, his shoulders ached, his feet were cramped, and his lungs felt like they were on fire, but the prison had to be close. It took all of his concentration to keep moving forward when all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep until spring. The hunter hadn't even bothered to keep track of any walkers following him. He knew that Carol wouldn't normally be worried about his trip running into the next day, but with the storm coming in, she would be frantic. Just the thought of her worrying made him push through the accumulated snow a little harder, and made him ignore how dry his mouth was. Cold and exhaustion left him incapable of higher brain function.

He caught himself tripping in the building snow and forced himself to concentrate on getting home. Daryl chuckled through his short panting breaths at the thought of actually having a home. Of course it would be the end of the world before he decided to get attached to a place. But the hunter really knew that it wasn't really the place that made it home. It was Carol. Without her, he would have left the group early on, gone looking for Merle, or gotten himself killed. Now he was determined to reach the caring woman.

Each jarring stumbling step was accompanied by a mental mantra of Carol... Carol... Carol. As the exhaustion gave way to blessed numbness, the snow turn the landscape white and featureless. Daryl relied instead on his internal compass that seemed to have reoriented to always point towards the older woman. Just when the determined man was sure his legs were going to give out before he reached the prison, the tall chain link fence appeared out of the snow. Relief filled Dixon and gave him enough strength to inanely hope that Glenn and Maggie weren't on watch as they seemed fully incapable of keeping their eyes up and their hands off each other.

With the gates in sight, Daryl let his chin drop to his chest and his staggering footsteps slow. He had never been so tired in his life. All he needed was a little break, just a quick rest before pushing on through the clearing to the fence. When his knees gave out and he went to the ground, the hunter was actually thankful for the snow that covered the sharp gravel underneath. If he had fallen on the bare ground, his pants would have torn and then Carol would have stayed up late into the night stitching them back up again by the light of a dying flashlight. Daryl couldn't feel the snowflakes sticking to his numb face, but he could clearly recall the exact way the grey haired woman would say his name.

Sometimes it was chiding for not wiping the mud off his boots before returning to their shared cell, or playful when he flicked water at the back of her neck. And more than once it was a plea for help when they were surrounded by walkers with no apparent way out. But no matter how she meant it, Carol always said his name with a softness he couldn't remember anyone else ever using. Merle and their father had said his name with a sneer, as if he wasn't worth the trouble of having him around.

Unwilling to think on his previous life, Daryl turned his mind back to his favorite way Carol said his name, but when he imagined the breathless way she had accepted some trinket or another he'd found on a run, she sounded terrified instead of awed. The fear in her voice shocked the scruffy hunter and he struggled to understand what had gone wrong. He knew she had adored the little arrow charm he had found to replace the cross she used to wear, but his mind continued to play Carol's panicked cry over and over. Daryl's heart ached at the tone he had only heard from the older once before when Sophia had gone missing and he wanted to do anything he could to make her stop being afraid.

His whole world seemed to suddenly shudder, and the hunter assumed he had closed his eyes at some point. It took concentrated effort to open them again and he recognized he was looking up at the white sky. Daryl knew he must have slumped sideways in the snow but before he could convince himself to move despite his exhaustion, the sky was blotted out by a shadow. Despite not being religious, his mind automatically filled in the blank in his reasoning as an angel standing over him. And indeed, the diffused sunlight through the storm made a halo around their head until their hand flashed out and slapped him hard across the cheek. The blow stung even though his skin was numb from cold, but the sharp pain grounded the hypothermic man and he forced his senses to focus.

Sound rushed in like it was filling a void in his head and words suddenly made sense again. The figure leaning over him was shouting and shaking him by the denim coat. "Daryl! Wake up!"

Carol's face was a mask of dread and determination as she shook the younger man to keep him awake. It had been pure luck that she had randomly decided to walk the fence despite the storm. She had been on edge ever since Daryl had lit out of the prison like his shoes were on fire and hadn't come back as the snow thickened. There hadn't been any walkers on the fence to take her jitters out on and the grey haired woman had just been about to go back inside when she saw the snow covered figure stagger out of the trees. With the storm obscuring the details, she had watched the figure slow and then go down to its knees. The maternal woman knew somewhere in her gut that it was Daryl and quickly slipped out of the gate with her knife prepared for the worst.

Her too-large boots made running across the lumpy, snow covered ground treacherous and Daryl slumped sideways as she shouted his name. For a moment, Carol was struck by the similarities to the time the hunter had limped out of the woods at the farm and was grazed in the head by Andrea. Only this time, all of her dread was focused on the younger tracker. After what felt like an eternity, she reached the prone man and stopped just out of his reach, knife held ready. It wouldn't be the first time someone rushed to another's aid, only to be too late to save them and instead was infected too. As Carol searched for any sign either infection or life, she hesitated.

If Daryl was infected, or already turned, she wasn't sure she would have the strength to end him. The nameless walkers were simple to pretend weren't people once upon a time, and putting down Ed had been easy after everything she had suffered at his hands. But Daryl was different. He was everything a good man was supposed to be, but also entirely misunderstood by everyone that judged him by their perception of his brother or his appearance. Carol held her breath as she silently begged for him to open his blue eyes again so she wouldn't have to find out if she was strong enough.

At last, his eyes opened and stared up at the featureless sky and Carol could have cried. She took the last couple of steps to fall to her knees at his side, trying to ignore the disturbing blue tint to his lips. When he didn't seem to react to her presence, Carol panicked that she was too late and slapped him hard across the face and screamed his name again. Blessedly, his eyes slowly focused on hers and she bent forward in relief until her forehead rested on his chest. Daryl was too exhausted and frozen to respond, but he knew that he had made it back to Carol and he let his eyes slip closed again.

Cognizant of the foul weather and the dangerously blue tint to the younger man's skin, Carol deliberately put away her relief and started trying to figure out how to get him back to the prison and warmed up before he ended up with frostbite. But when she saw Daryl's eyes were closed again, the grey haired woman thumped a fist down firmly on his sternum.

"Damn it, Dixon! Don't quit on me now."

The hunter grunted at the impact and tried to nod his head that he understood, but it was as if his muscles had been disconnected from his brain and he couldn't make them work. Carol knew he wasn't going to be able to walk any further and she was unwilling to leave him long enough to get help or a vehicle. She berated Rick under her breath for allowing Glenn and Maggie to share watch, knowing they were most likely cuddled up in the tower, ignoring their job. There was nothing for it, the older woman would just have to drag Daryl back to the prison.

She staggered to her feet, ignoring the wet patches on her knees and grabbed the denim collar on his coat, heaving as hard as she could to get his legs straightened out. Next, the thin woman manhandled Daryl's arms above his head to slip the crossbow and backpack straps off. Carol donned the gear and gripped his frigid wrists and began tugging him through the snow. Despite his condition, the hunter really did try to help push himself along with his legs, but the movements were uncoordinated and weak.

* * *

Author's commentary: I just wanted to make the statement that hypothermia is not something to mess around with. Please don't try to sit in a tree overnight in winter, nor should you attempt to make a fire in a tree. Trust me from personal experience, it will not end well.


	3. Chapter 3

Anything recognizable is the property of the appropriate owners. I do not make any claim to ownership, nor do I make any money from this.

Note: I have not seen past Season 4, Episode 9: After.

* * *

Carol kept up a litany of unimportant words and reminders for the hunter to stay awake as she dragged him across the lumpy ground, through the gate, and to the main entrance to the living quarters. It wasn't until they were well into the concrete building that someone heard her muttering to herself and came to find out what the maternal woman was doing. Immediately, the exhausted pair was surrounded by people, led by Rick Grimes.

"What happened?"

Carefully lowering Daryl's limp arms across his chest, Carol addressed the unofficial leader of the group. "He got caught in the storm."

"Is he alive?" Rick didn't sound like he really wanted to know the answer, not that he believed the grey haired woman would intentionally bring a walker into the prison, regardless of who it had once been.

"Of course. Only a Dixon can kill a Dixon." She snapped. "Help me get him to our cell. Someone go make a round of grits for when he wakes up. And find me any spare blankets."

Everyone just stared blankly for a moment before Carol stood up and glared. "Now!" The bystanders scrambled to vacate the area before the usually placid woman turned her eyes on them, leaving the former sheriff glancing awkwardly at Dary's blue cast face.

Groggy, the prone hunter chuckled at Carol's commanding tone but it quickly turned into a weak hacking cough. She immediately kneeled down and slipped her hand between the concrete and his head. When the fit subsided, the older woman looked up at the tall man. "Grab his arms and I'll grab his feet."

Rick nodded in agreement and they soon hefted Daryl's limp weight, carefully shuffling along the corridors and up the stairs where they met Hershel at the cell door. "Lay him down. Bethy is bringing warm bottles of water."

Soon the hunter was installed on the bunk and Grimes automatically started removing Daryl's sodden boots. Carol shed the backpack and crossbow before bending down to untie her boots. She kicked them under the bunk and started on the buttons on her baggy flannel shirt. Rick looked up when she shucked the wool layer and started on her belt.

"Strip him." She prompted. "Unless you want to cuddle him."

The sheriff blushed slightly and started pushing the scruffy man's shirt up and manipulating his limp arms through the arm holes. Hershel issued instructions as he hobbled up and started checking Daryl's vital signs while Rick efficiently tugged down his snow soaked pants, leaving him in only his thin boxers. "Rub his arms and legs, keep his blood flowing."

Surprisingly graceful in execution, the veterinarian turned doctor pivoted on his good leg out of Carol's way so she could climb over to the far side of the bunk. The greying woman hissed as she pressed close to Daryl's side. His skin was ice cold but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to relax. Carol would be lying if she said she wasn't taking just the smallest advantage of the situation. She justified her volunteering to be his personal heater as simple practicality. In the years they had been a group, everyone learned that the scruffy man only tolerated certain people in his space, let alone initiated contact with, of which Carol was one.

Rick pulled the blankets from the top bunk and tucked them around the mostly naked pair, adding the extra ones brought to the cell by one of the former Woodbury residents. Lastly, Hershel tucked bottles of warm water delivered by his youngest daughter between the blankets to help warm up the hypothermic man. Soon, only their faces were left uncovered and Carol shifted to press more of her body against Daryl's limp form, from toes to shoulders. Satisfied that they could do no more but wait for the hunter to wake up, Hershel chivied Rick out of the cell and hobbled away.

Carol felt like the layers of blankets were pressing down heavily on her while she hugged an ice cube, but the older woman appreciated the opportunity to indulge in Daryl's presence. She had been unnerved by the Dixon brothers when they first met at the quarry, but then again, their world was literally ending before their eyes and no one really knew what was going on. Merle was clearly loud and unpredictable and her past experiences with testosterone filled men had only been painful. On the other hand, Daryl was quiet and self sufficient, but always went out of his way for the group, and especially the older woman when Sophia was lost.

They had grown relatively comfortable with each other during Daryl's convalescence, and after he rescued the greying woman from the herd that forced them from the Greene Farm, they were practically inseparable. Carol looked after the hunter, making sure he had enough to eat and his clothes were tended, and she respected the distance he kept around himself. In time, Daryl learned to trust her, and even reached out occasionally to initiate contact, even if it was just a tap on the elbow, or a nudge with his hip. She couldn't deny that despite their dire situation, she had fallen for the scruffy tracker, and she hoped that he wouldn't be scared off by the extent of their current physical contact when he woke. In the meantime, Carol nuzzled his hair and let her hands carefully caress his well defined muscles under the guise of warming him out of the hypothermia.

Evening passed into night and the prison quieted as the storm continued outside. Daryl seemed to have changed from the cold induced stupor to restful sleep at some point, even going so far as to shift into a more comfortable position and press back instinctively into Carol's warmth. Hungry after the long day fretting over the hunter, she considered slipping out of the cocoon of blankets to find herself some dinner, but didn't want to prematurely give up the opportunity to be so close to the younger man. Instead, she let the steady beat of Daryl's heart under her palm begin to lull her to sleep. But before she could fully give herself over to morpheus, a sound outside their cell drew her attention.

Despite the security of the prison, Carol tensed and slipped one hand under the pillow for the knife Daryl had hidden there when he moved in. The sound moved closer, and she could make out the footsteps of someone trying to quietly approach the cell. Knowing that Rick or Hershel would have announced themselves, the grey haired woman kept herself relaxed and feigned sleep. A few minutes later, a form slipped into the dark cell to kneel by the bunk, completely unaware of being watched.

The older woman nearly gave herself away when she was finally able to identify the visitor. Vickie was a former Woodbury resident, and had actively pursued the hunter since she arrived at the prison despite Daryl clearly being not interested. If not for the innate jealous dislike Carol held for the woman, they might have gotten along as Vickie was gregarious and helpful with chores, but she had absolutely no boundaries when it came to men in general. Besides, her name alone set the older woman's teeth on edge. Reluctantly, the grey haired woman let go of the hidden knife, knowing full well that she would have no excuse to stab the visitor.

Vickie brushed her long brunette hair over her shoulder and set a bowl of grits on the box used a table in the small space. She then reached carefully towards the sleeping man's face to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes. Quickly, but without disturbing Daryl, Carol grabbed the younger woman's wrist firmly, barely resisting the urge to squeeze the delicate bones together. The women stared at each other for a moment before Vickie tried to pull back.

"I just wanted to check on him."

"He's fine." Carol whispered firmly. As far as she was concerned, the younger woman was an interloper in her space and had no right to be any more concerned that anyone else.

The brunette twisted her wrist free and reached for Daryl's face again, only to be stopped when Carol grabbed her a second time. Vickie looked affronted and snipped. "I can keep him warm too."

"If he wanted you, he wouldn't be sleeping in my cell, now would he?" The older woman squeezed steadily until Vickie grimaced and pulled away again.

"We'll see about that when he's better." She hissed and stood, moving to grab the bowl of grits.

"Leave it."

Vickie dropped the bowl with a clatter, sniffed and stalked out of the cell with her nose in the air, making more noise than she had coming in. Carol remained tense until nothing could be heard on the walkway before carefully pulling the blankets back up to Daryl's ears and letting her arm drape across his ribcage again. Sleep was no longer an option as the grey haired woman seethed silently. There was nothing wrong with flirting between unattached adults, and to an extent, playful banter with someone who was in a relationship was reasonable. But blatantly and repeatedly throwing oneself at someone who didn't reciprocate was over the line, regardless of if they were in a confirmed relationship or not.

Realizing she was grinding her teeth, the older woman consciously relaxed her jaw and tried to exhale her anger. Mentally pushing the roiling emotions down, Carol focused on the younger man in her arms. She knew she shouldn't hope for anything considering the tenuous hold humanity had on survival, but she couldn't resist squeezing him just a little bit tighter while she could. The greying woman promised herself that she would step back the moment Daryl was well enough to care for himself, but until then, she would indulge in the feeling of holding him in her arms.

More melancholy than angry, she didn't immediately notice Daryl's hand move from where it rested limply on the mattress, to cover her hand on his chest. He caressed her delicate bones before entwining their fingers and pressing her palm over his heart. Carol figured it was an automatic response to stop her tickling touch, but she couldn't help the way her own heart raced. She felt like a schoolgirl again with her first crush, all bubbles and butterflies, but she pushed the fluttering feelings away. It would just hurt more in the long run. But then the grey haired woman noticed she could feel Daryl's heart racing under her palm too and she wondered if it was the same reason hers was thundering behind her ribs.

"I know you're awake." Carol whispered against the back of his neck and he grunted softly in reply.

"Do you feel up to eating something?" She prompted and received another grunt.

The older woman reluctantly extracted her hand, and carefully pushed down the blankets without exposing him to the chill air so she could reach for the bowl. Daryl finally croaked out an English reply in the dark. "M'cold."

She smiled happily and left the bowl. "I'll come back if you want, but I have to go find the lady's room first." So far his stint in the weather didn't seem to be having any ill effects on the hunter. "Do you need anything?"

Daryl shook his head, his tongue too dry to even attempt further conversation. The hunter was simultaneously already missing her and glad that she was climbing over him. He just needed a moment to himself. With enough awareness to know that he was safe, he had woken slowly and enjoyed the comfortable weightlessness. Then he slowly became aware that he wasn't alone, yet he didn't object. Something about the body that was spooning him was a little bit like home, and the groggy man realized he could feel breasts pressed against his back. But he also smelled the familiar scent of his pillow and Carol's shampoo.

Suddenly, the woman behind him tensed and shifted her arm under his head and he heard footsteps on the walkway. Daryl forced himself to remain relaxed and still while the women whispered back and forth, shocked into stillness by the realization that they were actually fighting over him. In all of his life, no one had ever bothered to fight over him, let alone two women. Not that he was interested in the younger brunette. The hunter had observantly noticed the way Vickie had thrown herself at anyone with a dick between their legs and he wouldn't poke that with a 10 foot pole.

Vickie left in a huff, leaving Carol to victoriously pull up the blankets and get comfortable again. Daryl felt her force the tension from her body and snuggle closer before gently embracing him again. Her fingers brushed his chest, tracing his scars and caressing where she knew a tattoo lay above his heart. Afraid that she might move lower again and brush over his aroused nipple, the hunter caught her hand in his and held it still. He wondered if she could feel his racing pulse and knew how much she affected him. For the first time in his life, he held hands with a woman and wanted more.

But he also remembered the storm and just how hypothermic he must have been. It was only practical that someone would have shared body heat, and of course she volunteered. Carol would give anyone the shirt off her back and never think to ask for anything in return. He doubted his own worth and convinced himself that she was only offering her body heat out of pity. Poor Daryl, couldn't even manage to bring back dinner and got himself hurt again. But damn it if he didn't wish that she was there for him because she wanted to be.

So when Carol clambered out of the bunk and quickly felt around for her clothes, Daryl couldn't help straining his eyes to catch any sight he could in the near perfect darkness. He hated himself just a little bit more when he considered using his convalescence to stay close to the older woman. Once she donned enough clothes to be decent, Carol quickly left the cell, leaving Daryl alone. He didn't really want to leave the warm nest she had created, but his own bladder was complaining and he was dehydrated. The hunter left the blankets enough to devour the grits and wash it down with a bottle of room temperature water before pissing in the same bottle. The bottle went under the bunk so the scruffy man could dispose of it later.

Carol reappeared soon after, having found some leftover stew and a granola bar. She stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before sitting on the foot of the lower bunk to untie her shoes. "How are you feeling?"

"Cold." He automatically replied. It wasn't a lie as ice seemed to have settled in his bones.

The greying woman wasn't surprised that he was still cold, she just didn't expect him to want her back given his preference for space and she said is much. "I know I said you were welcome in my bed, I just wasn't sure if I'd be welcome in yours."

Daryl took several moments to come up with something to say that didn't sound ridiculous in his head. Finally, he said the only thing that wouldn't have an ambiguous answer. "Are you asking if I want you?"

She took a deep breath. "I suppose I am."

His stomach did a little flip and Daryl could have danced a jig if he had any energy. She had said herself that she wanted to know if he wanted her, and that could only mean that Carol wanted him. Realizing he had been silent for too long, the hunter sat up despite the darkness. "Wouldn't want no one else."

Carol grinned with giddy relief that she hadn't pushed too hard and began shedding her clothes again. "Get over here 'fore all the blankets get cold." Daryl teased, reveling in the thrill of having his attraction reciprocated.

They shuffled around the bunk in the darkness, banging knees and giggling until they were facing each other and the younger man hesitantly felt around for her cheek. Carol nuzzled into his rough palm before hesitantly closing the distance and kissing the hunter. Daryl wished he had at least swished some toothpaste around in his mouth but then he was distracted by her soft lips. Inanely, he thought he had never touched anything softer than her skin before or after the end of the world and he was determined to make the most of it. At least, he promised himself that he would once he didn't feel like slush was still flowing through his veins.

* * *

Author's commentary: I just wanted to make the statement that hypothermia is not something to mess around with. Please don't try to sit in a tree overnight in winter, nor should you attempt to make a fire in a tree. Trust me from personal experience, it will not end well. Also, rubbing the extremities is not one of the recommended treatments for hypothermia as it can rush cold blood back to the heart and cause damage. I blame Hershel's advice on originally being a veterinarian.

Also, a guest commentator brought up a very valid point regarding the descriptors I use when referencing Carol. I must admit that this is one of my struggles with writing. There is no intention of making her feel much older than she is portrayed in the show, or implying Daryl having mommy issues (though, it wouldn't be out of line if he did.) I simply have trouble coming up with more than a few descriptors for a character and I would greatly appreciate suggestions for alternatives. Thank you for your contribution.


End file.
